


Under the Eye

by Nelja-in-English (Nelja)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A bit of Peter Lukas, Accidental Soul Bond, Angst, Beholding!Martin, Borges' Book of Sand, Creepy Fluff, Dom/sub Undertones, Dreams, Kissing, M/M, Mild Horror, Monsters in love, Power Imbalance, Romance, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Stealth Crossover, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 15:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16621937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja-in-English
Summary: Martin wants to find and save Jon, more than anything. It's what Jon's God wants too, so Martin will follow It.





	Under the Eye

Peter Lukas offered Martin two weeks of paid vacation. Martin really tries to take them. But he realizes quickly his work is all he has left - Tim and Sasha are dead. He can never fix anything with his mother short of tearing off his own face. And Jon, Jon is surrounded by monitoring appliances certifying his heart is no longer beating. Visiting him too long quickly became torture.

At the Archives too, Martin is alone - though he feels like the tape recorder keeps silently looking at him. It's a weirdly mixed metaphor, though he's not sure it's factually wrong. He finds a statement, old enough that there’s no people to interview left, so he couldn’t ruin it just because he’s alone; and he starts reading.

It’s almost hard to remember it used to be painful. He missed it quite terribly. He didn’t record the statements for Elias, not even only for Jon, but for something more important. They must be read, and recorded - as he’s panting in exhaustion he feels the weird joy of accomplishment.

The notes are short. A bit of Internet research and a few newspaper articles, and stopping there seems not enough.

“I know they saved the world,” he says. “I know it could have been worse. But it’s so unfair. Tim died. Daisy never came back and it hurt Basira so much... and Jon, I should be grateful he's not dead. I really should. Also, it should be less horrible than when he hated me, but... it's not. At least he had some kind of fun back then, I guess. I miss him so much."

And then the recording ends. He has nothing more to say, now that he has confessed the most important thing.

In the evening, as he’s leaving, he suddenly stops wondering how he can help Jon. The direction he should take is an absolute certainty, roots already deep in him. He doesn’t wonder how. It's certainly not Elias putting things in his head, it's different, stronger and softer at the same time. He knows who it is - what it is. Tim called the Archives God, the Eye, evil. It probably is. But one thing is sure, It wants Jon to wake up as much as Martin wants it, so what It just made him know must be true. If It is even able to magically lie, Martin is still not sure about it.

"Thank you," he whispers. He gets no answer and didn't expect one.

What is the risk if Peter Lukas catches him in Elias’ office? - Only to be isolated in another dimension forever - It’s the worst fate Martin can imagine - It’s not that different from his current life.

No, he will take this risk. He must get used to having an evil boss who _can’t_ read minds. It doesn’t mean he should stop being terrified of him, of course, but not the same way. As far as the Archives go, Martin knows more than Peter Lukas does; he just needs to convince himself.

He knocks. No answer. Of course it’s locked, and Martin is almost reassured, because Peter Lukas is probably not waiting for him. The door is thick and solid, and Martin certainly can’t break it down?

Suddenly he knows where Rosie keeps the spare key.

Once again it’s not natural, it should bring back bad memories, but the knowledge comes with its own euphoria. Martin can’t believe he really has a God. He wonders if it’s what Jon feels. No, it must be different, Jon is special. In these moments, Martin almost feels like he could forget the Eye is a monster feeding from fear, he could pray to it. Even if it won’t work, well, certainly not for things as trivial as preventing the CCTV from working. Elias could do it, but he wouldn’t.

The door opens for Martin anyway. He knows where the safe is - he never did before tonight - he knows the combination. What he doesn’t know is why Elias didn’t put the recording of his confessions here, why he let Melanie steal them - and no supernatural knowledge comes to him. It’s about what Martin needs to serve, not about what he wants to know.

There are five books here, of various sizes, and Martin doesn’t need to open them to know they’re from the Library of Jurgen Leitner. He knows which Power they’re affiliated with. Elias is possessive with what he thinks belongs to him. 

He knows which one he must take, and he’s relieved. Five Leitners, it would have been a bit too much for him. He sneers to himself, one is already far too much. But if he finds help to save Jon here - and Jon isn’t getting better - why would he hesitate?

“I would do anything for you, Jon, anything,” he whispers on his way back home to give himself strength. He discovers later that his tape recorder switched on by itself Just to record this. Something is listening, is blowing on the embers of his hope.

Sitting at his table, he reads a page about farming olive trees around the Mediterranean Sea. Surprised, he turns a page - no, more than one, they’re so thin - to find the biography of a Chinese man he has never heard about, well known in his village for his amorous adventures with dragons…

This book is infinite and holds all the knowledge in the world, he knew it when he took it. Martin shouldn’t be surprised to realize it has neither index nor logic.

“You’re worse than Wikipedia,” he mutters to the book. How easy it must be to lose oneself in it! But he didn’t steal it for this. Not to extend his culture about dancing in medieval Mexico. He seeks what could help Jon. He hopes that it’s not a quest for the next century, that the Eye will guide him to the right pages.

“What do you want in exchange?” he asks in the air. Of course, once again, only silence answers. He was not heard, or this has no right answer.

The day after, at work, Peter Lukas looks at him with suspicion, and Martin feels the icy fog of loneliness wind against him, paralyze his body and his mind, make him feel like bursting into tears and giving up everything.

He wishes he could fight this feeling by thinking about Jon, but he can only remember his unbeating heart, expressionless face on his hospital bed. Then he fights with anger instead. They’re in the Eye’s place of power, and Peter Lukas is an intruder, while Martin has every right to be here. He serves something greater than himself, something that’s _here_ , and he can breathe again.

Peter Lukas seems a bit surprised to see Martin escape his hold, Martin savours this feeling, then gets back to work.

The following weeks, he reads statements until his brain breaks, then he goes back home to study his new book, slowly, often too caught up in an irrelevant page. Yet he knows he’s getting close. No page is exactly what he looks for, but the coma-related sicknesses, nightmares, and magical rituals became far more common themes. He reads about dizzying cosmology knowledge he knew nothing about six months ago. He takes notes on everything that seems even a partial answer, he reads again and again and sleeps less and less.

The bags under his eyes are dark and deep. Even Basira asked him what the problem is, but he mumbled something about Jon and she probably believed him. He starts having small not-really-awake moments in the subway. Sometimes he sees things that are not there with the corner of his eye, but sometimes, he doesn’t see things that are actually here.

He keeps going. He has no time to lose.

And then he feels like he gathered enough knowledge to try. He paints on one hand the mark to stay lucid in dreams, on the other, one against insomnia - he’s exhausted, but he’s even more nervous - and he falls asleep immediately.

Dreaming about Jon won’t be enough. It won’t be real contact. Martin knows the way that will make it real - and he doesn’t like it one bit.

The way goes through the statement Martin gave about Jane Prentiss, and he must get back to it, trapped and terrified during days of muffled blows against his door. He knows none of this is real. But the fear comes back anyway, as something tangible, solid in his guts.

He trapped himself here on purpose, and now he must get out. To confront Jane Prentiss would be the most stupid option, he knew it before he came here. It’s worse now, and he feels nauseous only thinking about it.

There’s another way out.

“I know it’s to protect me, to protect all of us, that we don’t see Jon in our nightmares,” he mutters. “I really need a bit less protection right now. I’d ask politely but I don’t know how, so… I apologise in advance. It will be the brutal way.”

He takes a kitchen knife, goes to his small bookshelf and - there’s no way to put it otherwise - bursts Coleridge’s eyes.

The world around him seems to shift for an instant, vibrate, lose it’s coherency. It’s what Martin expected, but it’s not enough. He convinces himself he would never damage his poor books this way in the real world, and keeps going with the rest of his collection.

He keeps a lookout, and when he sees a crack big enough, looking like a heat mirage, he jumps into it.

At least he doesn’t reach a world full of crawling worms, so there’s that. But he hasn’t found Jon either. He’s alone, in total darkness, but he can still see. And above him...

Above him is a gigantic Eye, and Martin doesn’t feel he has the right to look at it. He should beg, ask Its forgiveness for a transgression he did in Its name, for other ones he doesn’t even know and feels guilty for not knowing. He feels appalled at having imagined he could communicate with It, establish any kind of closeness to a God...

He falls on his knees then prostrate, face down, crushed with terror. He doesn’t know how long he stays here, but he only leaves this state of despondency when he hears screams on his ears, when someone shakes his shoulders.

“Martin… Martin, it’s you? How?”

This is Jon’s voice, worried tones not hiding his elegant accent at all, and Martin raises eager eyes, discovers Jon’s face with irrational happiness. 

The weight of the God Eye’s gaze is less heavy since Jon is looking at him too, like he’s turning part of it into a wonderful thing.

“I came…” Martin manages to whisper. “I learnt… I wanted to see you, Jon.” He gets on one knee, then clumsily stands up.

And then Jon hugs him.

Martin’s body and heart become weightless. He forgets he’s in a nightmare, forgets he’ll lose all of this when he wakes up. The warmth of Jon’s body against his, the pressure of his hand, everything feels real enough. Once the weight of What is observing them stops crushing him, Martin can even feel it turning into some distant approval.

“Martin, you did _not_ let yourself be trapped here?” Jon asks, his voice wildly protective. He moved away from the hug, but not like someone who regrets, and one of his hands is still on Martin’s shoulder. Martin could cry from joy. 

“No, I just learnt a bit of… dream magic… to come to you… Dreams are…” Dreams are from the Eye’s domain, but of course, Jon already knows this.

“How did you know…” Jon nervously waves his other hand, and the meaning is clear, how did you know where I was?

“Elias made a recording. For you. I listened to it. Sorry.”

“Martin…” Jon whispers, obviously forgiving him. Martin really cries this time. He missed Jon so much.

“You have to get back,” he says. “We succeeded, with the plan against Elias, but everything is even worse, Peter Lukas runs the Institute, and we need… I need you.”

Jon’s hand runs up Martin’s neck, then his cheek, not like a caress, more a firm grip, like he wanted to find an anchor in it. Martin tries not to see too much in it. Jon never did this - but Jon has been trapped in this nightmare for months, has been far more deprived of human contact than Martin.

“I can’t,” he says with despair, “I can’t go back.”

“I’ll find a way,” Martin promises. “I’ll keep looking. I already came here. I’m not forgetting you. I wanted you to know this.”

“There is a way,” Jon answers. “I could… I could surrender to my God, belong to It entirely. The Eye, if I’d let It…” He shivers.

“So why not?” Martin asks? He’s not being selfish, he tries to convince himself, he just wants to know. It would be… horrible and scary, of course, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. He can imagine worse. He can see worse here. He listened to worse on Elias’ tape.

“I don’t know how much I would stop being myself,” Jon answers, his voice calm and terrible. “But I don’t doubt it would be agreeing to destroy our world as we know it. I won’t take that risk.” Martin doesn’t understand. Jon keeps talking, with a bitter smile. “Yes, our Ritual is the next one on the list. I should have told you, all of you; it’s done now. Don’t worry, I doubt it’s that big of a risk without Elias and without me.”

Martin wants to argue that Jon’s life is worth anything, but he can’t. He didn’t expect something so terrible. He wishes he could say this Ritual would be less horrible than any other, but here, especially here, he can’t believe in it.

“Isn’t here another way?” he asks. “Any way?”

“I have just enough power to live, not enough to wake up.” Jon answers. “I can’t acquire more, I’m trapped here, where I can only observe again and again what I already know, I can’t _learn_ anything!” 

“I tried to read statements by your bed…” Martin timidly suggests.

“And I can’t hear them, unfortunately.” Both of Jon’s hands are now cupping Martin’s face, his eyes piercing into him as hard as their God’s Eye, and it’s hard to remember it’s real, not just one of Martin’s fantasies. “Martin, I know your intentions are good, I’m not doubting you, but I fear you’ve been allowed here only to remind me of everything I can have if I yield, if I leave this nightmare world and wake up.”

“Uhh, thanks?” Martin babbles. He loses all of his composure when Jon is so close. He doesn’t know what he expected, but not this.

“What Basira and Melanie said…” Jon talks very slowly, as if speech was painful to him. “About… the feelings you might have for me… was it true?”

“Yes,” Martin answers in a very small voice. He refrained from saying it for years, fearing rejection, but he can’t _lie_ to Jon.

And Jon softly kisses his lips. It’s short, chaste and Jon immediately moves backwards, but Martin feels happiness bubble in his heart, under his skin. He kisses Jon’s forehead, not sure he can go further when Jon just stopped, but no longer able to bear the distance between them.

He kisses his eyes, he kisses his cheeks, and Jon doesn’t reject him, his arms around Martin’s neck. Above them, their God is watching, discovering this with a perverse satisfaction, of seeing something new, but not only that. They belong to It, both of them, and their link doesn’t get in the way of this, it only makes it stronger. 

Martin should mind. It’s creepy and gross and terrifying, but right now, he’s having a hard time remembering that Jon’s kisses are not worth the end of the world.

“I could bring you statements?” he desperately offers. “Here, in the dreams? Maybe it could work?”

“You can’t bring anything material here,” Jon answers. Then, to make amends for the coldness of his certainty, he says more softly. “But talking to you… it’s better than… you know, don’t you? You’ll come back?” He looks at Martin eagerly, with fervour even, and his softness seems wrong, like something in him had broken here.

It would be so painfully selfish, Martin thinks, to leave Jon trapped in his nightmares, to be the only one to visit him, never to know whether Jon really cares about him this way, or whether he just saw no one for too long.

But Martin didn’t come for this, at all. He came to save Jon. And he feels so close…

“It doesn’t need to be material,” Martin answers. “I have read them. I can… of course I don’t remember every word, but you can take them in my head? I mean, I think you could? I wouldn’t mind. I was reading them for you anyway.”

Jon is staring at Martin, his gaze even greedier than before, his hands trembling. Martin feels a shiver run down his spine. He offered. He really doesn’t mind. And with this voracity, hope came back in Jon’s eyes, and spreads to Martin’s, removing a thorn from his heart. He researched so much and he knows nothing. But if Jon thinks it’s possible...

“It could be dangerous,” Jon suggests, as if trying to convince himself. There are sweat drops on his forehead. “It’s not like asking you normal questions, these are statements, I have no idea…”

“It will hurt less than if you never wake up,” Martin answers firmly.

“I hope you’re right,” Jon whispers, looking so relieved at Martin’s answer. He kisses him on the lips once again, like a thank you or an apology. He’s breathing too fast.

And then he asks. _What did they say?_ At this moment, Martin knows with absolute certainty that Jon has a sliver of their God inside him, that the sacred terror Martin feels is directed at Jon too.

He recounts every statement, word for word, without an hesitation. And, bit by bit, each one of them is torn from his memory, from his very being. The pain is mixing with the ecstasy of answering to Jon, of giving him everything, and Martin is trembling and spasming. He falls to the ground again at one point, and Jon is rushing to Martin, sitting beside him, raising his head to his lap… he doesn’t ask him to stop. Martin is not sure Jon could. But he pets his hair, and Martin will never regret following him to his personal hell.

At last Martin gets to the end of it, emptied of all his energy, but it’s not a problem, because Jon is still here, by his side, and neither his hands nor his eyes ever left him. It’s all that he always wanted.

“Will it be enough?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Jon is almost yelling, not in anger but in despair, and Martin is shivering under his gaze, full of a greed that ties knots in his guts. He knows Jon does not want him right now, just more information. Or, best case scenario, a bit of both, since Jon has Martin sit down and kisses him again.

Jon’s tongue is caressing Martin’s lips, and he opens his mouth eagerly. He sweeps aside the uneasy thoughts about how Jon would probably prefer to get more statements from his mouth and lips and tongue. Martin is unfair to Jon. He could, he should, ask him how he feels about him. He would believe the answer. But he’s just a coward who enjoys what he’s given.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” he says. “But I’m exhausted and I will wake up soon… put this way it sounds weird, doesn’t it?”

Jon doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile. “Come back,” he whispers, “please don’t leave me alone forever.”

Martin wonders how Jon can doubt this.

Waking up is hard. Martin’s body hurts, and he feels like a piece of his brain is missing. Indeed, he forgot what was on the tapes he recorded. He can still listen to them again.

But at least it proves it was not an ordinary dream. He did reach Jon, and Jon…

Martin is touching his own mouth with a finger, trying to remember the sensation on his lips. Of course he will come back! He shakes his head. He would have done it anyway. He would have done if Jon had been cold and haughty. He would have persuaded himself that months of nightmares have taken their toll on him. Now he can fear it instead.

Jon did kiss him. He did. It doesn’t mean he will do it again. Maybe he learnt what he needed about how Martin’s lips taste, maybe he just wanted to give him a good reason to come back to him...

Martin tries not to think about all the dark spins he could put on this. He will drag Jon out of the nightmares, by any means. They can always talk later. When the world is normal again. As normal as it can be for them.

He records a new statement this day. Of course he can’t do more, it’s exhausting enough. At least he did sleep on this night, it goes with the dreaming, but he still feels very tired. No one asks him question about why he smiles all day, but he’s sure at least Basira noticed. 

On the subway back home, he tries to make small talk with a nice old lady, but after a while, he realizes he’s talking about her grandkids by name and she hasn’t given them to him and she looks quite worried. It’s hard to explain that he probably read this in a magic book or knew it by other weird magics and isn’t a crazy stalker, so he apologizes and changes places. She still looks scared.

When he comes back home, before sleeping, he looks again in his endless book for something that could help him and only finds something noteworthy about what to do once you wake up from a coma, and it’s all very encouraging but it doesn’t help him right now.

Falling asleep seems very sweet, like going to a date.

He has to go through Jane Prentiss again, he has to get out of it, and he feels like his God is judging him a bit less harshly than last time. Or maybe he’s getting used to it, maybe he’s learning to appreciate it. He’s waiting for Jon. The other nightmares are not for him. He doesn’t want to see. Of course, if he could support Jon… no, he must only think about getting him out of here.

This time again, Jon holds him tight as if someone wanted to snatch Martin from him, leaves small kisses everywhere on his face, and he must want this, mustn’t he? If he just wanted what Martin brought to him, he could ask first.

But one statement is a weak offering, and before it’s even finished, Martin knows it was needed but it won’t be enough.

“It seems I’m still trapped here,” Jon confirms. “Well, here is not the worst part of it, and you being here makes it better, but… you know…”

There’s dejection in his gaze, and Martin can’t stand it.

“You can… I’ll give myself to you if you want,” Martin whispers. And as he sees Jon recoiling and blushing, he stammers. “No, not like that! Ask for my statement. About how I came here. About everything.”

Jon doesn’t protest, doesn’t ask about his safety this time. He kisses Martin’s lips again, very softly, very slowly, like a ritual, and asks: “Who are you, Martin Blackwood?”

And Martin starts talking. It’s easy, so easy. He can feel, as abstract knowledge, that it is too much, that it should be infinitely painful, that only the immense God above them makes it as sweet and delectable as it is terrible. He gives everything to Jon, every event that shaped him, every secret shame. And probably too often, he adds as explanation for what he did: _because I love you, I have loved you for too long_. It’s the truth and he can’t hide it.

Jon is devouring him and the Eye is devouring him, he can barely feel the difference any longer, and it’s the most obscenely wonderful thing in his life.

He wakes up in his bed with a high fever, unable to tell how far he went Until the end, or not? He remembers having talked about Elias’ Leitner. Is it already morning? Yes, light is coming though the shutter, still grayish but bright enough to have him close his eyes. He tries to get up, but he’s too weak. He should drink water, but he can’t even do that. He tries to grasp his phone from the bedside table, and, of course, it falls.

But he didn’t lose these memories - his memories, nor his feelings, so he should be glad, that it’s his body paying the price instead. He should, but he’s too busy imagining the worst about what will happen to him now. When will someone come? Is it an illness that heals with time, or will he die of thirst before? 

He can’t sit and he can’t sleep. He can feel a gaze on him; maybe it’s the Eye, registering his final moments after using him to wake up his Archivist. Martin would like to be selfless and not mind this end, but he does mind, a lot. He wants to live, and he wants to see Jon again! He wonders if Elias is watching too, tasting his revenge. Or if he still thinks Martin isn’t important. 

The time seems never-ending, and he isn’t getting more able to stand at all. 

Then there’s a knock at the door. He wants to yell at them to come in, to kick the door open, but his voice won’t obey him. Fortunately someone does break the door down. The gaze on him knew, maybe, he needed help. He wishes again he could sleep, or at least faint. Or be able to ask the nurses what is going on, if he really has to be awake!

And then he hopes he didn’t fall asleep, because after he’s put on a drip of water, nutrients and chemicals, he sees Jon at his bedside.

Did it work, he thinks. If it did it was worth it. No, I can’t believe too fast. Maybe I’m just dreaming again.

Jon puts a hand on his forehead and tells him: “You did it, Martin. I’m here.”

It proves nothing, of course. Jon would say the same in a dream. Martin wishes he would be able to talk. He’s just too tired.

“Martin, could you skip this step, it’s as awkward for you as it is for me. What must I do to convince you we’re both awake?”

Already Jon’s voice is full of an irritation he had lost in his nightmares. Martin shivers happily. Maybe all this is true, then? But no, Jon is not even answering him, he’s answering to his thoughts! It’s not normal.

“Oh, this.” Jon answers, and the concept of what is _normal_ seems further from his thoughts than ever. “You… I’m not the one to reprimand you on… taking such risk, giving such power to me, because… I took it. I didn’t try to stop you. But... I might have access to your thoughts now. All the time.”

Martin’s cheeks are burning. He listens to everything Jon tells him, how he woke up, how he felt how hurt Martin was and insisted they sent an ambulance to his home.

(They thought Jon was delirious. He had to insist, and insisting meant using his powers in a less than ethical way. Martin won’t complain. Not now, not ever).

Martin listens but doesn’t think about it. Jon will know everything about him, always. He does right now. Does it change anything, can it be even more awkward after all he told him in the dreams? Yes it can.

“Stop this, Martin!” Jon’s words are sharp, but his gestures are very soft and uneasy as he takes one of Martin’s hands in his. “Do you regret this? I would understand. I…”

No, Martin thinks, no! Never! I would have given everything to have you back, and in the end… it could have been very much worse? So much worse than belonging to you, than binding myself to you under the Eye… Of course it would not be consequence-free. 

And Martin should hate it, but he’s fascinated, and he loves Jon far too much. And Jon _knows_ him and doesn’t despise him and doesn’t discard him either, as Elias wanted him to.

Wait, he thinks, and you? Did you hear this? Not that it changes things, you knew, but… can you turn it off? Do _you_ regret it? Maybe having foreign thoughts in one’s head is worse than losing every claim to privacy.

“I can’t turn it off. Well, there are a lot of worse things I can’t stop knowing, and… I have no regrets. You saved me, you understand this, don’t you?”

He hesitates, while Martin feels full of relief and joy. Then he says again. “You were wondering, I’m not… it’s not… even if I left that nightmare world by myself, even if… I would have chosen you anyway… we are bound, but it’s not the reason, and I do need you, but it’s not… please stop doubting me! I wouldn’t deceive you!” 

And Martin does exactly this. He stops.

“But we’ll have more this way,” Jon promises. “So much more.” 

Jon only kisses him after, when they’re both sure of what it means, and Martin, at this point, does not mind that he should be scared and horrified, because he’s not feeling that at all. He doesn’t mind the God that gazes at them here and always, and he even manages not to wonder why It lets them have this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ishime and Mr. Blackwood for the betareading!  
> It was first written for an exchange for Jyana about characters learning magic, but it was also inspired by a prompt by Amber about Jon and Martin being magically bound together after Martin wakes up Jon, and by a prompt by Lontradiction about Martin loving Jon while they're both Beholding monsters. Mixing things here. Maybe I could write more, who knows.


End file.
